


Painted Crimson

by squire



Series: Everything Of Me [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: About as much as you'd expect from an Evil Space Ginger, Blow Jobs, D/s relationship, Dirty Talk, Dominant Hux, Emperor Hux, Hux doesn't know what to do with affection, Little bit of Fluff, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Overstimulation, PWP, Punishment, Spanking, Submissive Kylo Ren, Toys, post-TFA, prettily made-up Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6273703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ren is trembling under the scrutiny, as if he could feel Hux's gaze upon him like a physical touch. Such sensitivity in such a strong body, Hux wonders. It's Ren's greatest strength and his greatest weakness, all in one - every cell of his body finely attuned to the Force, his every sense flooding his mind with an avalanche of sensations. His sensitivity is what gives him such terrific command of the Force and at the same time it tears him apart. When Hux first met him, he'd thought Ren was wearing his mask simply to intimidate. Now he knows that the mask is a shield, a protection, distorting and filtering the sensations from the outside world into something Ren can manage. Force sensitives see things before they happen, they hear other people’s thoughts, they feel the heartbeat of every lifeform around - and when controlling all this influx becomes too much, when Ren starts to lash out and destroy his surroundings - that's when he needs someone to step up and take the control from him. Snoke used to subdue him with the Dark Side. Hux has a firm hand, iron self-control, and endless patience. Somehow, it's enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painted Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> My huge thanks to [ Ylevish ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs) for looking this over and assuring me that I haven't mucked it up too badly. 
> 
> My first work for this pairing. Be gentle with me. At least gentler than I was with them:)

Entering the quiet and cool air of Hux's private quarters feels like slipping under the surface of a still, clear water. A soothing balm, wiping away all those clashing colours, glaring lights and too loud conversation with a single hiss of the soundproofed door.

Hux hangs the ceremonial coat and jacket into their designated closet and rolls his shoulders. The rich brocade he wore to the welcome back banquet tends to get heavy as the evening drags on but now he can change into something more comfortable. He opts for a simple black jacket cut in the fashion of his old general uniform, with high collar and shoulders padded to look broader above a slim, belted waist. Despite the military stiffness of the fabric, he feels good in it, and the severity of the lines of this outfit is an added benefit that he intends to put to good use tonight.

The door hisses and slides aside. Hux doesn't turn. There's only one person whose authorisation allows entering without waiting for the Emperor's explicit approval.

Carefully measured steps come to a halt just inside the room.  _ Hasn't forgotten all his training yet _ , Hux smirks to himself and slowly turns.

It's been long six weeks - the longest they've ever been apart since Snoke's death and Hux's ascent to the Imperial throne. Those first days, before the mayhem settled into a functional Empire, were the hardest - the freshly-leaderless Knight became nearly unhinged, dangerously tripping on the edge between sanity and madness. Soon it was clear to Hux that Kylo Ren wasn't meant to exist without a master. He was being torn apart by his own power, unmoored and adrift, desperate to imprint on every strong-willed individual  that came around. Well, Hux had drive and will in spades, even though at first, he was reluctant to take up the role of Ren's master. He wasn't Force sensitive, he couldn't show him the path to any side of the Force _.  _  But there were other ways to ground the Knight's volatile nature. In the end Hux had to admit that Ren was too good an asset to the rising Empire to be simply cast aside. He had little doubts about the true extent of Ren's abilities and even less qualms in using them to their full potential.

And the truth is, having Ren at his beck and call has other, more pleasant uses.

Hux is in no hurry to break the silence just yet. He stretches the moment, letting his eyes roam, taking in the whole of what he has to deal with tonight. What he looks forward to deal with tonight.

They've been in the same room for the entirety of the evening, moving in non-crossing circles, skirting around the edges of each other's awareness. Keeping up the act. The public is better kept in the belief that they still hate each other's guts, that it was only an old oath of allegiance to the First Order that had bent Ren's knees in front of the throne, that it is only a sworn duty that makes him bow his head before his Emperor. And that Ren's connections and heritage are the only reasons Hux is keeping him around, as well.

Now they're alone and Hux can look his fill. Ren had dressed well for the occasion of Hux's grand return from the six week long diplomatic journey. He wears the white robes and strings of Mon Cala coral beads with an almost feline grace, unexpected in a man of such build. His asymmetric, scarred face was straightened and rendered impassive by ceremonial make-up for the duration of the cocktail party and the dinner, a subtle reminder of his Naboonian heritage and not so subtle hint to some of the old Imperials milling around the court that the Emperor has the support of nobility dating way back into the Old Republic.

Now the white powder and the red diamond dots under his eyes are gone. The only vibrant colour on Ren's pale, black framed face is the shock of crimson on his lips.

_ Damn, he knows how good he looks with his lips painted like that _ . Six long weeks. Of course Hux is above thinking of them as of a shame, regardless of how many times he'd spent a thought for the one he had to leave behind. This mission has been a great success, and it isn't as if he's been missing the allure of a warm bed. Ren never stays the night. It's an unspoken rule of their arrangement that he isn't allowed to. One rule of many.

Those six weeks of separation had little effect on Hux - and it would be even less if he wasn't so honest with himself - but they certainly did have an effect on Ren. If Hux is enjoying the sight of his Knight in a detached, aesthetically appreciative way, Ren is positively drinking him in, eyes dark with pupils blown wider than the light level in Hux's quarters warrants. The slight trembling of his perfect lips coupled with the unwavering, adoring stare is enough to remind Hux of what is at stake here. He is the Emperor. He has the entire Galaxy to mind, to rule and to call his. Only after seeing to all that he can close himself in the privacy of this room and indulge in a little extra that is also his - his to own and to command, his to care for. But for Ren... well, let’s say that Hux is the focal point of Ren’s orbit, and the rest of the Galaxy can burn. It is dangerous to be in the eye of such storm, such unbridled devotion, such destructive power. Hux has to be cautious, thinking through his every move so that Ren remains his perfect, useful tool. Hux also knows that every tool needs maintenance. Ren is like a fine instrument, with some facets that need regular sharpening and others that need repeatedly a new coat of paint.

Hux likes painting all over his Knight, likes leaving his imprint on the canvas of his willingness. He is an artist at heart, he has the ambition of an architect and the insight of a sculptor. You can't build an empire without an excellent sense of proportion, without the knowledge where to ruthlessly cut and where to gently polish to achieve the best results. He likes shaping Ren into his finest work of art.

After a few minutes of this silent mutual regard Hux half-turns back to the table and lifts a small, leather-bound notebook. He hears the odd intake of breath, slightly louder than the others, and keeps himself from flicking his eyes over to Ren, from acknowledging that he'd noticed. Instead, he flicks through the pages, lifting one eyebrow as he re-reads some of the notes. It's a show, a build-up of anticipation - he knows what's written there, these are the words of his own hand, and Ren knows, too. Or at least, he suspects.

"I was disappointed to receive quite a number of complaints over your misbehaviour in my absence, Ren."

"I was doing my best in following your orders–," comes a protest, cut off in the middle by a pointed gaze from Hux.

"I don't remember granting you permission to speak."

Ren bows his head a fraction and swallows but cannot make himself tear his eyes from Hux.  _ Gone a bit feral again, so much for remembering his manners _ , Hux thinks almost fondly.  He pulls out a pencil from its hiding place in the notebook spine, flips through the notes until he finds the last one and then he turns a new page, slowly, unhurriedly, and writes down another note. Ren gulps on empty air, watching the top of the pencil move.

It's a part of their ritual, this ostentatious, gratuitous notebook. Hux is perfectly able to remember each and every one Ren's transgressions and even if he weren't, he could write them down into his usual datapad. A blink of cursor on a sleek electronic gadget, modern and precise, instead of this old-fashioned, sloppy graphite catching on a rough, uneven paper. But it feels somehow more real, more damning, to press on the pencil and watch the tip leave a mark on the page. Hux never writes with too much force, and often a note can be rubbed out with an eraser, leaving the page as empty as new. Just like the bitemarks, handprints, welts and bruises he leaves on Ren's skin - they always heal, absorbed into the pale body and leaving the skin unblemished again. Hux never leaves a permanent mark, regardless of how badly Ren wants him to. Especially because Ren wants him to.

Besides, Hux is never not careful. In the world of electronics, no byte is ever truly lost. Even deleted files can be recovered. But the used pages of this notebook can be burnt and the ashes blown to air. Once, Hux had torn them into thin scraps and fed them to Ren at the end of their session, coated in Crucival honey.

"Needless intimidation of the newest court members... two irreparably damaged practice rooms... and several other incidents. Nineteen in total. Impressive even for you." His tone cuts with sarcasm.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" A pause, then another. Hux huffs. "You may speak."

"The ineptitude of those court members–"

"I have personally vetted and approved every one of them," Hux cuts him off. "You aren't to question my decisions."

"I am sorry."

On some level, Hux believes that Ren means it. He truly is sorry - but what for, that remains unclear. Perhaps his expectations for this evening have been different. But as Hux likes to remind him, Kylo Ren isn't the one calling the shots here.

"Save your sorries," he says, amused with the way Ren's jaw twitches at the rebuke. The proud Knight doesn't find it easy to apologise. There's a lot he has to learn yet.

"I don't want your excuses," Hux continues. "I want your penitence."

For the first time since he came in, Ren casts his gaze on the floor. His face turns an impossible shade paler, the crimson of his lips stark against it - as if they're bleeding already.

Hux idly thumbs the pages of the little notebook. "Nineteen," he drawls. "Together with your latest insolence that makes a round twenty. Will you be able to bear your punishment?"

This is Ren's way out - the only one that Hux persists on giving him, every time, despite Ren's annoyed and vocal dislike of safewords. He can back off now - he can gather his robes and the tatters of his pride, turn and leave this room, and Hux won't ever mention it again. But Ren knows that the door wouldn't open for him the next time.  Hux doesn't play act with safewords either.

"I will," Ren says, barely a whisper of sound over a rushed breath. A shiver runs through him that he suppresses, holding still.

Hux nods, once, puts the notebook down and crosses the distance between them with quick, precise thirty inch steps. He catches Ren's chin in his hand and lifts it, turning his head this way and that, admiring the play of light on Ren's painted lips, the almost crude contrast between their perfection and the twisted scar tissue running next to them. Ren's lips are silken-glossy and velvet-smooth, and up this close, Hux finds his too big eyes and crooked face almost punishably beautiful. Ren can't help himself, he parts his lips and sways a little forward - silly boy. Hux holds him well away.

"Six weeks ," Hux muses and doesn't elaborate. He lets go of his grip on Ren's chin, leaving just a tip of his forefinger under his jaw and using the slightest pull to lead Ren towards the table. The Knight follows as if Hux is the one wielding the Force here, moving his pliable body as he pleases.

"I intend to make up for the lost time," Hux says conversationally, "so let's get the edge off first."

He perches the back of his thighs on the edge of the table and plants his feet wider apart. Just enough place for Ren to fit on the floor between them, and ever so quick to take a hint, Ren starts folding his knees under him. A press of a finger under his jaw stops him.

"You need to strip," Hux tells him. It's not an order, more like an advice that implies there's an explanation to follow, and Ren's eyes sparkle as he scrambles to obey.

When he's done, all athletic lines and solid muscle shifting under toned skin, he sits on his haunches in the designated space and for once, Hux doesn't berate him for being presumptuous. His palms rest neatly on his thighs, a respectful distance away  from his already half-hard cock, and he's looking up, expectant and even a bit impish.

Hux smirks.

"I know you enjoy spanking far too much for it to be a punishment. The same can be said for the sucking of my cock. So let's make this into a bit of a challenge, hm?"

He reaches behind himself to another item of the small array he'd laid out on the table beforehand. When he brings his hand back for Ren to see, he's holding a moderately sized plug. It's smooth and crimson in colour - that's why it had caught Hux's eye in the display of the shop window during his leisure time of one or another of those boring planets he visited - and the size is hardly something Ren wasn't able to take before. But as Hux rotates the toy in between his fingers, Ren can see that once flush inside him, the particular shape of this plug would deliver a merciless jab right into his prostate with every little twitch. Ren knows that Hux knows how terribly sensitive Ren is, how quickly he gets from pleasurably aroused to painfully over-stimulated. From the way that impish smirk falls from that long face Hux knows that the prospect of spanking doesn't look quite as alluring as it did before.

"You have ten minutes to suck me off and prepare yourself," Hux tells him. "Every additional thirty seconds this takes is one more slap to your arse, so don't tarry. You can take less when you think you're ready - every thirty seconds you manage to take down means one slap less. But remember that as soon as you bring me off, this goes inside you whether you're ready or not, so you’d better time it wisely."

It's a cruel game, Hux knows. To give Ren an illusion of control, a false hope that if he performs well, if he's good enough, he can get away from at least a part of the punishment. At the same time it really gives Ren a measure of control - but that's exactly what he doesn't need, doesn't want. Left to simply take what Hux has in store for him, Ren would quickly slide into submission, into that blissful state of absolute disconnection from his own will. This - needing to coordinate his hands and his mouth, having to balance two contrary impulses of dragging this out to give himself more time for preparation and ending it as quickly as possible to shorten the punishment that comes after - this will keep Ren firmly inside his own head.  Hux knows what Ren craves from him - and he will give it. But not yet.

Hux hands him a tube of lubricant and uses the time Ren spends slicking his fingers to open the placket on his breeches and pull himself out - a relief he doesn't like to admit, how much the sight of the Knight on his knees affects him. Then he pulls a plain old datapad from his pocket and sets the timer. The clear  _ ping _ of the activated countdown is accompanied by Ren's shuddering gasp.

"The clock's running," Hux grins wolfishly and Ren dives in.

He takes him in as far as he can on the first go, using only one hand to wrap around the rest of Hux's length while he reaches behind himself with the other. Hux's chest feels suddenly too small for the air he needs and he wills himself to draw controlled, measured breaths, filtering the air through gritted teeth. Damn, it's been too long. Ren sucks his cock like a man dying from thirst, with long pulls and a tongue curled around the underside, rubbing along the veins there, and Hux is beginning to think that ten minutes was perhaps a too generous limit when Ren pulls off, gasping with discomfort at the too quick breaching of his arse. He must be tighter than usual, he hadn't played with himself while his Emperor was away, Hux thinks with something akin to pride.

Ren's lips leave obscene smears of his pretty lipstick all along the length of Hux's cock and Ren cleans every smudge with thorough laps of his tongue before he pulls him back in, all the way to the back of his throat. He swallows and moans, the ripple of the soft muscle around Hux's cock sending sharp bursts of pleasure up his spine. That mouth, Hux thinks, is so good when it's not used for talking. He rests back more comfortably and lets Ren's bobbing head do all the work, content to being served like the Emperor he is. The arousal builds within him, neatly and solidly, one layer stacked on another, just the way he likes it - he could be pleasured like this for hours.

After a couple of minutes it's clear that Ren is starting to have a hard time of this. Something flares up within Hux when he notices, that cruel streak he normally hides even from himself lightning up like a live wire, biting with electric shock hotter than the simple, everyday sexual pleasure. Hux's vision blurs slightly as he watches Ren trying and failing repeatedly to establish a rhythm. He's getting distracted by the struggle to work third finger inside himself, his pretty cock is flagging, and his usually flawless technique becomes sloppy. Pink-coloured saliva dribbles down Ren's chin, he's huffing out ragged breaths through his nose and an odd tear or two are running down his cheeks from when he accidentally forgot breathing at all. He whimpers when he inadvertently brushes across his prostate, the jolt of acute pleasure throwing him off. He tries to avoid it, the movements of his hand frantic, and his eyes squeeze shut with concentration as his brow breaks with sweat. It's doing more to Hux's arousal to see him struggle so desperately than the constricting wet heat around his cock, and we can't have that, Hux thinks. It's no good to let him get away with ineptitude just because he's pretty.

"Careful, Ren," he warns him, cards his fingers through the hair above Ren's forehead and tugs until Ren opens his eyes, squinting and still unfocused with disorientation. "The clock's ticking and seeing you fumbling like a schoolboy is rather off-putting."

Ren blinks, stray tears catching in his long eyelashes, and attempts to say something - but his over-strained lips quiver too much to cooperate. He settles for a quick nod and takes Hux back into his mouth, alternatively lapping with his tongue as far as it can reach and hollowing his cheeks to create a wonderfully tight friction on every pull. The little pause has helped him - he's regained some level of self-control, safe for now from the panic he'd nearly spiralled into earlier. He's calm enough now that his body stopped fighting him, and there's even a little spark of smugness in his eyes as he looks up at Hux, taking in his reactions, assessing his chances. He's got three fingers inside of himself now, sliding in and out easily, his cock stands proudly against his belly, his trained gag reflex is a tantalising flutter of tightness every time the head of Hux's cock hits the back of his throat, and there are still over two minutes left.  

Which is why the tightening of Hux's hand in his hair is the only warning Ren gets before Hux yanks his head away from his groin, slipping out until only the tip of his cock rests between surprise-slacked lips. It hurts to drag oneself back from being so close but Hux is nothing if not strong-willed, and he has a lesson to drive home here.

Ren's eyes skip anxiously to the timer. He purses his lips around what's left in his mouth, curls his tongue around the glans and then presses the tip of his tongue into the slit. Hux's cock twitches and he has to count to three and back in his head - and then once more, in Huttese, to keep himself from coming. Dirty fighter, Hux thinks with ever-rising level of pride, but his grip is unrelenting. When Ren attempts  to slide his mouth back down the length of him, he finds he can't move an inch. His nose scrunches up and his eyes widen with honest hurt, then there's a flash of anger - come and gone so fast that Hux would miss it if he wasn't looking for it - and then comes the pleading.

"Let me finish you. I'm ready. You said that I could–"

"I said you were to suck me off. Not to drool around me in a sub-par performance."

One minute and forty seconds. Hux cuts off Ren's protests with the head of his cock, pushing just past the circle of his lips. In and out, in and out, slowly fucking those swollen lips with the crimson gloss still clinging to them in places, watching them curl over teeth on the push in and catch on the foreskin on the pull out. Delicious, velvety-soft caresses on the exposed, sensitive glans, and Hux is almost giddy with the perfection of it. It's like drinking expensive Daruvvian champagne, small sips that prickle sweetly down your throat and turn your vision bright and swimming. Hux is in absolute control, Ren's silly hopes of making this easier for him crushed, and Ren has no option but to let himself be used. And interestingly enough, despite the laments about unfairness written all over Ren's face, his cock juts away from his body, harder than ever. One minute and ten seconds.

"You should wear this colour more often. It looks good on you."

Twenty nine seconds and Ren's shoulders slump in defeat. Hux smiles and allows himself to let go, all the carefully arranged layers of mounting pleasure bursting all at once. Holding Ren's head in place by his hair, he shoves his cock so deep that Ren gags, despite his experience. The involuntary closing of the tight muscle around his cock is what does it for Hux and he's coming, straight down Ren's throat, abdominal muscles tensing almost painfully with the release and doubling his body over Ren's head. He mashes Ren's face into his groin, the wave of pleasure cresting and slowly subsiding, and he's glad Ren can't see his expression now. Eyes squeezed shut, upper lip drawn back from his teeth in a feral snarl, jaw slack with release - no, Ren must never know how much Hux enjoys him.

_ He may know it already. He is a mind reader after all _ .

But Hux is reasonably certain that he's safe from Jedi mind tricks during their sessions. One of the rules: one use of the Force in Hux's quarters, and their arrangement is over.

Hux straightens, his cock softening and expression collected again, and Ren collapses forward, hands on his knees and chest heaving with deep, shuddering gasps for air. A few drops of precome trickle down his thighs. He's always had a thing for breathplay. Hux discovered long ago that one of the surest methods to get Ren all fluid and glazed over with pleasure was to put his hands around his throat and squeeze.

"Up you get."

Hux has tucked himself back in, not a button on his uniform out of place, and he's now pulling on a pair of leather gloves. It's his favourite, the original military issued pair, the leather worn smooth at the heels of his palms and cracking a little in the creases of his fingers. Ren is now standing on slightly wobbly legs, his big body still slanted and trembling with the combination of arousal and exhaustion, and he's watching the gloves with a flicker of disappointment in his dark, half-lidded eyes. Hux lifts an unimpressed eyebrow back at him. He has no intention of getting his own skin smarting, now, has he?

"Hands on the table. Two steps backwards. Longer. Feet apart." Ren obeys without hesitation - he's good like that. Maybe he wants to be through with the punishment already, to get to the good part of the evening. Well, if he expects that, Hux has some news for him.

He doesn't waste time checking on Ren's hole - the preparation was Ren's responsibility. He only dribbles some of the slick lubricant gel onto the conical, curved end of the plug before he nudges Ren's bare feet wider apart with his the tip of his boot and begins to drive the toy home. There's still some initial resistance and Hux notices the loose strands of hair at the base of Ren's neck dampening with sweat, a solitary drop of it running down the ridge of his spine. He wipes it away with his gloved finger. The tense muscles of Ren's back twitch under his touch.

"Relax. You're doing well." As if to agree with his words, Rens body gives in and the plug slides all the way in, the flared base coming to rest snug between his buttocks.

"I was right. This colour really looks good on you."

Hux smoothes an appreciative hand over the curve of Ren's upper thigh and smirks at the little, aborted jump Ren gives when his arse clenches in nervous anticipation and the movement jostles the toy within him. Just to give him a taste, he grabs the base of the plug and wiggles it around. Another drop of precome detaches itself from the tip of Ren's cock, hanging heavy between his legs with no hope for friction whatsoever. Ren's knees buckle under him.

"Twenty, was it?" Hux lifts his right hand. "Count them for me."

The crack of leather on skin is nothing short of satisfying. At first, there's no other sound than this - the electric snap of the blows, Ren's cut-off gasps and his deep, hoarse voice stuttering out numbers almost as an afterthought, each a bit later than the last. Soon Ren starts to cry out on every slap, voice getting progressively more high-pitched and wrecked. The veins on his arms stand out with the strain of holding him upright, his legs shake uncontrollably, and the larger-than-life handprints on his buttocks are slowly suffused with a shade of red so intense that it almost matches the plug.

At the count of fifteen, Ren is unable to hold still anymore. His face is streaked with tears that run freely down his nose and fall onto the floor, he's holding onto the edge of the table with white-knuckled grip and his hips are jerking in quick, aborted thrusts as his neglected cock instinctively seeks friction while the plug is forcing him to keep as still as possible. Without a touch to his cock, prolonged prostate stimulation is a torturous experience for him, the release - when it finally comes - more relief than pleasure. Hux absently wonders what it says about him that he's already getting hard in his trousers again, despite having come a couple of minutes ago, just from watching Ren writhe and sob under his hands.   

"Almost there," Hux says when there are only two slaps left. He smoothes his open palm over the red-blotched flesh. He can feel the heat even through the material of his glove. Ren is mouthing silent words - begging, probably. Smart enough not to beg aloud. Punishments are non-negotiable. Hux deliver the last two blows hard enough to send a lesser man face-first into the table. Ren 's feet skid on the floor but he holds on.

Before he can get a breath in to recover, Hux grabs the plug and pulls it out - carefully but quickly enough that Ren crumples with the shock like a house of cards and has to drape himself over the table edge before he ends in a sprawl on the floor.

"Very good," Hux condescends, pulling off the gloves. He has no intention of pampering Ren with praise but he's learned that with the Knight, a bit of positive reinforcement goes a long way. He unbuttons and removes his jacket, folding it over the back of the chair with a due attention to smoothing out the cuffs and shoulders. His breeches, undershirt and underpants follow. His movements are unhurried, his nudity unabashed - Hux may be lacking Ren's broad stature and strong bones but his body is fit and well-proportioned, with long, lean muscles and elegant bone structure. Ren is watching him with wet, glazed eyes, drunk on endorphins and feverish with the need to come. Warmth pools in Hux's abdomen at the sight and he takes himself in hand, giving himself a few lazy pulls.

"On the bed. Hands and knees." Hux would actually prefer to fuck him standing, still braced against the table, but he suspects that Ren is going to pass out after this session and he's not that cruel. Or maybe he just doesn't want to deal with an unconscious body one and one-half times his own weight.

Ren staggers to the bed and crawls into position, his cock an angry red weight between his legs. It's a miracle - or a proof of Hux's efficiency in handling the Knight - that he hasn't attempted to touch himself yet. A gust of wind to his cock would bring him off now - or an invisible squeeze of the Force. Ren can choke a person half a room away, he could give himself the release he craves - but he doesn't. Hux is sometimes very proud of him.

He kneels on the bed behind Ren and just watches him for a while. That sweat-matted hair falling forward in unruly strands. That long neck. Ren doesn't bruise easily. His skin is like a boar's, it takes some strength to leave behind a purple indentation of teeth - an effort Hux rarely spends. The way sweat glistens on the bumps of his spine, the way his ribs shift under his skin with every breath - Ren has very little idea how beautiful he is. Hux is careful not to tell him too often.

Ren is trembling under the scrutiny, as if he could feel Hux's gaze upon him like a physical touch. Such sensitivity in such a strong body, Hux wonders. It's Ren's greatest strength and his greatest weakness, all in one - every cell of his body finely attuned to the Force, his every sense flooding his mind with an avalanche of sensations. His sensitivity is what gives him such terrific command of the Force and at the same time it tears him apart. When Hux first met him, he'd thought Ren was wearing his mask simply to intimidate. Now he knows that the mask is a shield, a protection, distorting and filtering the sensations from the outside world into something Ren can manage. Force sensitives see things before they happen, they hear other people’s thoughts, they feel the heartbeat of every lifeform around - and when controlling all this influx becomes too much, when Ren starts to lash out and destroy his surroundings - that's when he needs someone to step up and take the control from him. Snoke used to subdue him with the Dark Side. Hux has a firm hand, iron self-control, and endless patience. Somehow, it's enough.

The tender skin of Ren's buttock is still hot to the touch. The rim of his stretched hole is pink with the previous ungentle treatment, and it flutters when Hux teases a finger tip around it. He could bury himself deep in one smooth slide, feel that hot buttocks slap against his hips - but he doesn't actually want to. He's hard, but the need to come is an optional extra. He likes to watch, the effect of his words turning him on more than the lazy stroking of his own hand over his cock.

"You're so loose now. And I'm not so eager to finish now. I could fuck you like this for hours, Ren. Would you like it?"

His finger slides in, just to the first knuckle. Brushes a whisper shy of Ren's prostate. Ren yelps and muffles his whimper against his forearm. Hux continues fucking his own loose fist and playing with Ren, both with his finger and his words.

"You wouldn't be able to stand it. Your shoulders would be killing you, I can see how they're shaking. You'd want to drop down on your elbows, let your cock rub against your own stomach, and I wouldn't let you."

He presses unerringly against the swollen nub and Ren flails, trying at once to fuck himself back on Hux's finger and escape the overwhelming sensation. He's almost there, almost at the verge of completely losing his mind, and Hux is rapidly getting there too.  

"I'd tell you to grab the headboard. Pull yourself upright. That way my cock would rub that sweet spot of yours on every thrust, Ren. Think about it."

Ren cries out raggedly, his entire body coiling on himself - for one shocked, breathless second Hux thinks that Ren has just come. But he's not, he can't - not without a hand to his cock, without at least some touch in the right place. He can't come without Hux allowing it and the rush of power is so intense, the electric taste of triumph so exhilarating that Hux can't resist it any more. He tightens his fist, fucks into it once, twice, and he's coming, white spurts coating the red swell of Ren's buttocks.

Ren flinches and groans and at last Hux is wrapping a fist around his cock, flattening it against his stomach and rubbing along the underside.  Ren stills, his entire body going rigid for a second and then he comes, his mouth falling open on a mute cry, painting come all over his broad chest - and then his eyes roll back in his head and his limbs give out under him. He collapses into a graceless heap on the bed, out like the light.  

 

*

 

Kylo is floating. He's in some shapeless, perception-less place - without time, without weight, without directions. It's like being immersed in the bacta tank, the fluid all around him, in him; coating his eyes, sticking to his eardrums, blunting every sensation into something warm and insubstantial.

Slowly, he tries to resurface. There's light behind his eyelids, nothing too bright. There's a familiar voice. There are touches. As if in a dream, Ren feels a whisper of fingers carding through his hair, over and over, with infinite gentleness. It must be a dream. Nobody has petted his hair like that since he was a child. Nobody has ever ghosted kiss after kiss to his forehead, tasted the skin around his eyes with warm lips, nobody has ever dotted kisses along the ridiculous length of his nose. And yet, there are lips, and generous kisses, and curious fingers worshipping his face, tapping out  _ 'Mine' _ against his temples, spelling out  _ 'Kylo' _ along the edge of his jaw, and finally, sipping a gentle  _ 'I missed you'  _ from his soft, yielding lips.

Kylo has to see who's this - this  _ lover _ , showering him with affection. He has to see - he tries to wrench himself from the soothing embrace of satisfaction, tries to unglue his eyes. But his body is obeying so slowly, every nerve ending drowning in molasses of exhaustion. He's surfacing, he can feel himself getting closer to the light - and then he finally manages to open his eyes.

The dream lover is gone. Kylo is lying on his back in the Emperor's bed, a cover thrown over him, doing very little to stave off the cold. The overhead lights are dimmed to twenty percent - Hux is a considerate man. Kylo's arse feels like one huge blister, burning with thousand prickles like a bite from the Kubindian silver ant, but the pain is a secondary thing, safely cushioned by the cloud of residual endorphins. He feels wrung out and the world is, for once, blissfully silent.

The Emperor sits at the table, dressed to a tee, a cold and dismissive distance between them. He isn't even facing Kylo, his body turned away, legs crossed, his stare fixed somewhere in the far corner. A burning end of a cigarette in his fingers draws a semicircle between his mouth and its resting place, thrown leisurely over his knee.

Kylo misses his dream lover. He wonders how it would feel to have Hux kiss him, just once.

"Hux?" His voice is hoarse from crying and slurred from sleep. "Kiss me?"

The Emperor's shoulders are a perfect, graceful line. He doesn't move his head. There's a deep drag from his cigarette, a prolonged exhale of smoke.

"Don't be a fool, Ren."

The light level is very low but when the cigarette appears in Kylo's line of sight again, he's almost certain that the filter is stained crimson.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ups. So I wrote that. Welcome to the Kylux trash compactor.
> 
> Update: this fic has now fanart!! The unbelievably kind and talented @theriseofthefirstorder drew [this beautiful piece](http://sinningsquire.tumblr.com/post/145341311221/theriseofthefirstorder-heavy-is-the-head-that) of Kylo and Hux. Check it out, it's so perfect.


End file.
